A
love for a love, and let mine be equalled with Keawe's! A soul for
a soul, and be it mine to perish!"

She was a deft woman with her hands, and was soon apparelled. She
took in her hands the change - the precious centimes they kept ever
at their side; for this coin is little used, and they had made
provision at a Government office. When she was forth in the avenue
clouds came on the wind, and the moon was blackened. The town
slept, and she knew not whither to turn till she heard one coughing
in the shadow of the trees.

"Old man," said Kokua, "what do you here abroad in the cold night?"

The old man could scarce express himself for coughing, but she made
out that he was old and poor, and a stranger in the island.

"Will you do me a service?" said Kokua. "As one stranger to
another, and as an old man to a young woman, will you help a
daughter of Hawaii?"

"Ah," said the old man. "So you are the witch from the eight
islands, and even my old soul you seek to entangle. But I have
heard of you, and defy your wickedness."

"Sit down here," said Kokua, "and let me tell you a tale." And she
told him the story of Keawe from the beginning to the end.

"And now," said she, "I am his wife, whom he bought with his soul's
welfare. And what should I do? If I went to him myself and
offered to buy it, he would refuse. But if you go, he will sell it
eagerly; I will await you here; you will buy it for four centimes,
and I will buy it again for three. And the Lord strengthen a poor
girl!"

"If you meant falsely," said the old man, "I think God would strike
you dead."

"He would!" cried Kokua. "Be sure he would. I could not be so
treacherous - God would not suffer it."

"Give me the four centimes and await me here," said the old man.

Now, when Kokua stood alone in the street, her spirit died. The
wind roared in the trees, and it seemed to her the rushing of the
flames of hell; the shadows tossed in the light of the street lamp,
and they seemed to her the snatching hands of evil ones. If she
had had the strength, she must have run away, and if she had had
the breath she must have screamed aloud; but, in truth, she could
do neither, and stood and trembled in the avenue, like an
affrighted child.

Then she saw the old man returning, and he had the bottle in his
hand.

"I have done your bidding," said he. "I left your husband weeping
like a child; to-night he will sleep easy." And he held the bottle
forth.

"Before you give it me," Kokua panted, "take the good with the evil
- ask to be delivered from your cough."

"I am an old man," replied the other, "and too near the gate of the
grave to take a favour from the devil. But what is this? Why do
you not take the bottle? Do you hesitate?"

The old man looked upon Kokua kindly. "Poor child!" said he, "you
fear; your soul misgives you. Well, let me keep it. I am old, and
can never more be happy in this world, and as for the next - "

"Give it me!" gasped Kokua. "There is your money. Do you think I
am so base as that? Give me the bottle."

"God bless you, child," said the old man.

Kokua concealed the bottle under her holoku, said farewell to the
old man, and walked off along the avenue, she cared not whither.
For all roads were now the same to her, and led equally to hell.
Sometimes she walked, and sometimes ran; sometimes she screamed out
loud in the night, and sometimes lay by the wayside in the dust and
wept. All that she had heard of hell came back to her; she saw the
flames blaze, and she smelt the smoke, and her flesh withered on
the coals.

Near day she came to her mind again, and returned to the house. It
was even as the old man said - Keawe slumbered like a child. Kokua
stood and gazed upon his face.

"Now, my husband," said she, "it is your turn to sleep. When you
wake it will be your turn to sing and laugh. But for poor Kokua,
alas! that meant no evil - for poor Kokua no more sleep, no more
singing, no more delight, whether in earth or heaven."

With that she lay down in the bed by his side, and her misery was
so extreme that she fell in a deep slumber instantly.